The sheer volume of noise was deafening. Every media personnel in the room seemed to simultaneously surge forward, standing up, shouting questions, and crowding the podium. Countless camera flashes fired off, an unrelenting, blinding assault of light aimed directly at Tony's resolute, slightly smug face.
Every single person following the story—from government officials to teenagers in their living rooms—was utterly shocked. They hadn't expected the world's most famous billionaire, who had an airtight government-provided alibi, to spontaneously combust his own cover story.
Even eight-year-old Peter Parker, sitting cross-legged and mesmerized in front of his small antenna TV in Queens, saw that defiant, resolute face on the screen. The image of the man who chose truth over safety was deeply imprinted on his young, imaginative mind.
Leo watched from the green room. He looked at the handsome, foolish face on the TV and grinned.
He single-handedly ushered in a new era.
Pepper, however, was incandescent with fury. Her face was a study in profound anger and utter helplessness; this was the one scene she had desperately tried to prevent. She didn't want Tony to risk his life again in the Iron Man suit, exposing himself to every lunatic, terrorist, and shadowy government agency in the world. In her eyes, Tony's safety—his life, his future—was infinitely more important than some misguided sense of heroic destiny.
She whirled around, facing Leo, who was still perfectly composed. Her voice was sharp, a mixture of accusation and betrayal.
"Leo, you knew about this, didn't you? You knew he was going to destroy the script!"
"I know a lot, Sister Pepper," Leo replied noncommittally, stepping back toward the comfortable sofa. As he glanced at her frustrated, maternal rage, he felt a strange pang of recognition, a glimpse of the fierce protective love that would define little Morgan's future.
Pepper was simultaneously angry and helpless. She threw her hands up in defeat and hurried out to the stage to try and run damage control, to somehow rescue Tony from the self-imposed media frenzy.
Leo, left alone, sank comfortably onto the plush sofa.
"Well," he murmured, stretching out his legs. "Having overcome the human limit hurdle, energy consumption for basic functions has decreased significantly. It seems one full reactor charge can now last for several days without intense activity. Barring any unforeseen, immediate circumstances, things should be relatively calm for the foreseeable future, allowing for more... refinement."
He looked at the warm New York sunlight shining on him through the massive French windows, squinting his Golden Eyes contentedly.
'Hmm, now that the world isn't ending, I really want a triple-cheese, double-patty cheeseburger.'
At that very same moment, thousands of miles away in a desolate, forgotten corner of Russia, within a dilapidated, freezing house, an elderly man in a threadbare coat watched the same scene unfold on a small, cluttered antenna television. He was terminally ill, his skin thin and pale, his breathing labored.
Tony Stark stood on the global stage, surrounded by flashing lights, a vibrant, arrogant superstar receiving the adoration of the world.
'Ivan...'
Weak and feeble, the old man called out the name. 'Ivan... cough, cough.'
Outside the dimly lit, single room, a burly, imposing man with long, unkempt black hair turned quickly. He heard the weak, failing voice and, with a look of deep pity and affection in his eyes, he came immediately to the bedside.
The old man kept his gaze fixed on the television, watching Tony preen. He coughed a few times, rattling his ancient frame, and weakly spoke in Russian, the words heavy with bitterness and generational resentment. "That spotlight. That recognition. That should be you, son. That knowledge was always ours."
"Don't listen to their nonsense, Papa," the burly man, Ivan, replied gently, his deep voice muffled by grief. He carefully put a small pain pill into the old man's mouth and offered a sip of water.
"I'm sorry, all I could give you was my knowledge… my knowledge of the Arc, but no success. No victory... cough, cough…"
Ivan gently rubbed the old man's frail chest, hoping to ease his pain. It was a futile gesture.
But within seconds, the old man, who had finally closed his eyes in resignation, never opened them again. The battle was over.
Ivan stood there, silent and still for a long moment, the only sound the flickering news report from New York. He reached for a bottle of cheap, potent vodka and took a long, burning swig, trying to force back the overwhelming grief he had already anticipated.
But after downing a mouthful of the strong liquor, the pain broke through his carefully constructed stoicism. He couldn't help but cry out, a wrenching, guttural wail of sorrow, frustration, and fury that echoed through the small shack.
When he finally looked up, his eyes settled on Tony Stark's triumphant, televised image. They were instantly filled with cold, focused, absolute murderous intent.
He began to rummage violently through the old man's effects and papers until he found a tattered canvas drawing. On it was a complex, elegant design resembling the first, massive Arc Reactor, along with pages of intricate, half-forgotten calculations. He pinned the design meticulously to the wall, a physical embodiment of his revenge.
The words 'Stark Industries' were clearly written in the lower right corner of the aged, blue graphic, a signature of the corporate betrayal that had ruined his family.
That evening, the chaos of the press conference and the ensuing media fallout kept Pepper busy for hours.
Leo, having had his cheeseburger and a brief rest, followed Tony back to the seaside villa. Tony's health had been deemed fine after a thorough hospital check-up, mostly just exhaustion and nerve shock, but he was still buzzing with energy and anxiety.
As they stepped into the sleek, darkened underground workshop, Tony spoke to his AI.
"Jarvis, lights."
"Welcome home, sir."
Before Tony could even turn on the main lights, he froze. A single, unfamiliar figure was standing by the panoramic window, facing the dark sea, his silhouette sharp against the moonlight.
The figure spoke, his voice low, gravelly, and utterly calm, repeating the words Tony had just declared to the world:
"I am Iron Man."
He turned slowly, a hint of something—amusement, perhaps—in his single, visible eye. "Do you actually think you're the only person who's spent his life thinking about super-powered individuals in the world, Mr. Stark?"
Before Tony could react, the man continued, taking a measured step forward. "Mr. Stark, there are many individuals just like you, with specialized gifts or enhanced technology. You just don't know their names yet."
Who are you? Tony's mind raced. He cautiously reached out, intending to instinctively protect the innocent Leo behind him, only to realize that Leo had vanished—again—at some point between the door and the center of the room.
A bald black man emerged completely from the shadows. He wore a heavy, tactical black inner layer beneath a long, severe black trench coat, and a distinctive black eye patch covered his left eye. His presence was overwhelming.
"Nick Fury. Director of S.H.I.E.L.D."
Nick Fury saw Tony, but also, critically, noticed the exact spot where Leo had been standing. A micro-fraction of surprise flashed in his eye, before he resumed his intimidating stare at Tony.
"I want to talk to you about forming the Avengers Initiative."
Leo was, in fact, standing outside the primary gate, his Golden Eyes gleaming, peering through the sophisticated security system at Nick Fury inside. He could see the Director's imposing posture and the tense reaction of Tony.
Realizing the conversation was sensitive, Leo quickly flew straight up to the second floor and entered his own room through the balcony, settling in to monitor the situation.
He watched the two of them gesturing animatedly. Even with his advanced Golden Eyes and superhuman hearing, he found he couldn't hear the entire conversation clearly; Fury must have activated some localized sonic dampening or jamming device.
'After seeing this, learning lip reading is definitely going on the top of my priority list for the next month.'
Leo knew the general script: Nick Fury had come to Tony to discuss forming the Avengers, and he knew that Tony, high on his own independence and ego, would resolutely refuse the idea of joining a team.
Nick Fury didn't stay long. Tony, feeling fully validated by his solo victory and believing he could rely entirely on himself and his suit, dismissed the idea of a partnership.
Nick Fury departed just as calmly as he had arrived, a shadow slipping back into the night, seemingly having accomplished exactly what he intended.
Leo descended from the second floor a moment later. "Mr. Stark, what did you two talk about? Was it a new car model?"
Tony wasn't surprised by Leo's sudden reappearance. Having worked with the military for so long, he had met countless clandestine agents and high-ranking leaders, and he frankly disliked them all.
"Where did you just go, Leo? That guy... he said he was the director of S.H.I.E.L.D., and he was proposing that I join a 'team of super-powered individuals.' Can you believe the hubris?"
Tony grabbed a tablet and started typing furiously on it, his mind already moving past Fury to the security breach. "Jarvis?"
"At your service, sir."
"How the hell did Nick Fury get in? Override any protocols?"
"I don't know, sir. All perimeter and internal surveillance was blocked for precisely 4 minutes and 37 seconds. I did not observe any physical breaches or unauthorized arrivals," Jarvis answered honestly.
"Leo, do you guys know S.H.I.E.L.D.? They're still quite capable; they managed to locally shield Jarvis on a small scale. Looks like I need to upgrade Jarvis again to deal with governmental interference." Tony stared at the lines of code on the tablet without looking up, trying to find the vulnerability.
Leo sat down on the sofa. "S.H.I.E.L.D. is the agency where Agent Coulson works. It was originally called the Strategic Homeland Defense, Attack, and Logistics Agency. It was an operations agency founded after World War II by your father, Howard Stark, and Agent Peggy Carter, among others, to deal with global threats."
Tony instantly put down his tablet, the mention of his father stopping him cold.
"My father founded it? I haven't heard of that. Figures. Well, he never listened to me, and he certainly never told me anything important about his life."
Tony was very reluctant to talk about his parents, and though he never spoke about it openly, he still couldn't fully accept the tragic, mysterious circumstances of 1991.
Leo looked at the emotionally distant Tony. "Mr. Stark, I'm leaving tomorrow. I think I should go home, too. School starts soon, and my Aunt Jenny will begin to worry."
"Tomorrow? Why? That's far too quick. I already have ideas for the Mark IV and Mark V suits. Don't you want to see the new designs?"
Tony tried to use Leo's past fondness for the armor to keep him around. After all, he was genuinely reluctant to part with the little friend who had been an unexpected source of calm, humor, and brilliant, if strange, advice for over a month.
Leo looked at Tony and smiled warmly. "Mr. Stark, I have to go to school, otherwise Aunt Jenny will scold me mercilessly. And you'll be incredibly busy from now on, Mr. Stark. You've got an entire world to save, right? I'll come to see you again when I have free time!"
Tony sighed but gave him a long-lost, genuine smile. "Do you need a private jet to fly you back? We can have you home by lunchtime."
"No need, that would attract too much attention. Just book me a first-class ticket on a regular commercial flight. I think Aunt Jenny and the others will come to pick me up at the gate. But Mr. Stark, could you do me one massive favor? Could you let me take one of the older, smaller Arc Reactors back with me? The clean energy source is revolutionary. I promise I won't let it out of my control."
Stark paused, looking at the tiny, yet world-changing reactor—the very invention that had sparked the whole terrifying Iron Monger war. He wondered what kind of geopolitical chaos it would cause if it were leaked.
However, considering Leo's inexplicable, seemingly absolute control over metal, protecting the Arc Reactor should not be a problem for him. "Okay, but it must be destroyed immediately after use, Leo. No replication. I mean it."
"Understood. And Mr. Stark, could you also arrange to ship a few tons of miscellaneous scrap metal to my home address?" Leo said, his request sounding genuinely embarrassed, but he truly didn't have the funds to buy high-quality industrial scrap.
Tony merely nodded, already typing the logistics request into his tablet. "Consider it done, kid. Payment for services rendered."
Pepper returned late that night, looking utterly exhausted from running interference with the government and the press. She found Tony standing alone in the underground workshop, polishing a piece of the Mark III shoulder armor. Leo had already returned to his room to continue his final training regimen.
Pepper stood next to Tony, leaning against the workbench. "So, Leo is actually leaving tomorrow?"
"Yes. Flight in the morning," Tony confirmed, not looking up.
"Tony, Leo has these… extraordinary abilities, but it seemed like he was using you a bit. I mean, he showed up, used your tech, got your intel, and now he's asking for an Arc Reactor and tons of metal. It feels like exploitation…"
"I know, Pepper, but I'm happy that I can help him, right? And this isn't exploitation; this is an equal exchange of favors and mutual curiosity. Leo is incredible, Pepper, he's even more amazing than you think he is, and he needed a resource I had in abundance. It's fine." Tony said, finally looking up at Pepper, his eyes warmer than they had been in months.
The next day, Happy Hogan took Leo to the airport, ensuring a smooth, secure check-in. Happy arranged for him to board a spacious first-class seat on a major commercial passenger plane, and Stark Industries would handle the delivery of the rest of his belongings to his home later that week.
Meanwhile, back at the villa, Tony was already donning the newly repaired and upgraded Mark III armor. "Jarvis, search the deep net for the nearest active war zone where Stark-made weapons are being used indiscriminately. We're going there for some field testing."
Leo sat comfortably in the large first-class cabin of the plane, looking around at the seats that were far more comfortable than any economy class seating he had ever experienced.
"So many spacious seats, but only two passengers in this entire section. Hmm, it really is good to be rich."
Leo could see that there was only one other person seated in the front row, reading a newspaper, but he had no intention of engaging the stranger. He walked over and sat down in his assigned window seat, which was directly to the right of the other person, separated only by the wide aisle.
He glanced idly at the newspaper the man was reading. Tony Stark's picture, his defiant face mid-declaration, was emblazoned on the front page. It seemed all the news today was about Iron Man.
"Tony Stark is Iron Man. That's a boring headline, isn't it? Very obvious."
The man folded his newspaper down slowly, revealing a familiar, yet somehow unexpected face.
"How about we talk about something a little more interesting, young man?"